


Resurection

by lazily_astray



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, letwritesherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazily_astray/pseuds/lazily_astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a nearly disastrous case, Sherlock and John share a tense taxi ride back to Baker Street. With emotions running high, they finally arrive back at 221B, and then…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resurection

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever fanfic.

They were on their way back home from a case. Sherlock kept glancing at his companion, who was sitting as far away as he could at the moment. John had nothing to do with Sherlock. He simply looked out his window, tapping his fingers on his lap silently. He had his eyebrows furrowed a bit, but he didn't notice. Sherlock understood why he'd be so frustrated. 

The case was confusing. No deduction made sense. The clues just wouldn't connect with each other. Normally he'd send John away in a separate taxi to devoid himself of all distractions. It was easy to get distracted by someone who'd have nothing to do in a long cab ride. Other than to gaze at you at continual intervals, sigh at the most random times, trying to get inside your mind, that is. But it was not a normal day. Not even for them. John was too agitated at Sherlock for Sherlock to be able to afford being rude by kicking John out of the taxi. Sherlock tried to concentrate on the crime scene, but just couldn't. John, minding his own business, seemed to be too big a distraction. It was Sherlock who sighed the whole ride home this time.

They reached Baker Street. John swung out paying the driver, pulled out his keys to unlock the door, all while displaying an enraged attitude. Sherlock stood right behind him, waiting for him to open the door. John opened the door, got in, and slammed it in Sherlock's face. Rubbing his hit nose, Sherlock could only silently follow him inside. He plopped down onto his chair opposite John's after the flight of stairs. John promptly got up from the seat he had just settled into and left for the kitchen. Another sigh escaped the distracted detective. 

He heard china clink. John had payed the cabbie for them, surely he'd not abstain from making him tea too? Alas, he returned with just one cup.

"John, this is getting ridiculous."

"Just getting? You've made it far past that, my _dear_ Holmes," John remarked. 

"John, I understand why you're behaving like this."

"No, you don't," John took a sip, "you never do."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

"Fine. I certainly do not understand why you're behaving like a child. It's not logical. But I'm trying to show," he cleared his throat a bit, as if the next bit was physically going to hurt, "compassion."

"Then why won't you just deduct what's the matter with me, Spock?"

"I already know what, but I don't understand why. You're too distracting."

"God." John put his cup down with slight force and looked Sherlock straight in the eye. "The one obvious thing you don't get?"

"I'm positive this is about Irene Adler."

"Yes it is! What do you not understand, then?!"

"All of your reactions when she strolled onto the crime scene."

"We ought to have been surprised, Sherlock, at someone who just rose from the dead!"

"Of course I understand that. Any normal person would be shocked. But what I don't get is why would everyone there be agitated with me?"

"Becuase you're the abnormal one! You didn't look nearly surprised enough."

"So that's it, everyone's 'mad' at me because I failed to follow social protocols?"

"No. It's because you obviously knew about her, something about her.  Yet, failed to mention the gigantic detail that the woman, who was beheaded in Afghanistan a few months prior, somehow managed to escape, only to meet up with you at a crime scene and flirt a bit - _a lot_."

"What do you mean 'flirt a bit'?"

"Oh please, Sherlock. Everyone deduced what 'dinner' meant."

Sherlock clasped his hands together and held his fingertips at the edge of his nose.

"John, the woman doesn't concern you in any way, so please don't dwell on the fact that I didn't tell you." He was irritated now. Typical.

"Secretive." Sherlock looked up, John got up.

"What?"

"You're always so secretive. Only half the time do I know what's going on in that bloody world wide mind of yours, and even then just half of that time can I follow you."

"I'm like that with everyone, John."

"Well, I apologize for believing I meant more to you." John walked over to the window, taking his cup of tea along. Sherlock shut up and felt his stomach feel queasy with guilt. He slowly got up, and started walking towards John.

"John, I..." He silenced.

"Just for once I wish you'd let me in." Sherlock could only look at the back of his head in dismay. "I know she meant something to you. Couldn't you share that much with me?"

Sherlock gently put his hand upon John's shoulder. 

"This isn't about Irene Adler anymore, is it?"

John turned around to find Sherlock standing at the mere distance of an inch. His face was right at his chest, he could hear his heartbeat. He looked up. He gazed into Sherlock's guilty eyes. Gazed at them with the most ridiculed expresion he'd ever made.

"Don't flatter yourself." 

John headed back for his chair. Sherlock shook his head. 

"It's still about you," John said, once cozied up in his chair and taking continual sips of the yet unfinished tea, "about you and your secretive mind which you place so highly above all the other alecs of this world."

Sherlock lost it.

"I simply avoided stating facts, while you deliberately devoided me of the truth, stating she was in what, a witness protection program, while you knew - well, thought you knew - she was beheaded." John raised his eyebrows. "You lied to me about Irene Adler. You joined forces with my brother and you _lied_ to me!"

 All that shouting was sore on John's eardrums. Sherlock took a deep breath. "That is much, much worse than what I did."

"We were trying to protect you."

"Please, you're the one who keeps referring to me as 'Spock'."

"But Spock was half human-" He stopped mid-sentence to sigh.

Did John have the strength to negotiate?

"So, er, how did she get out of a beheading anyway?"

No, no he didn't.

Sherlock fell into his chair and made himself comfortable. Emotions exhaust.

"Afghanistan's whether was particularly nice the week of her sentence."

John gave a tiny laughter, hinting slight, but merely slight disbelief.

"Unbelievable. You went to Afghanistan without me. I could've been your tourguide." They laughed.

"So, how about that tea you forgot to make for me?"

John rolled his eyes.

"I'm not your wife."

Sherlock smirked.

"You may as well be." 

Mrs. Hudson jumped from behind holding a couple of wedding magazines. 

"I have waited for this moment for so long now, boys! Do NOT ruin this for me! I particularly liked the grooms' tuxes on pages seven and-"

"MRS. HUDSON!!" They yelled in a chorus, to shoo her away. 


End file.
